


Wannabe

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Communication Failure, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Pouty Rowena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena wants something. You're confused.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Kudos: 44





	Wannabe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](https://prince-of-moths.tumblr.com/post/158553875418/otp-texts-4).

Usually, you were pretty good at understanding Rowena, but her behavior today was indecipherable.

It started with a pout as soon as you saw her this morning. You'd greeted her with a smile, as you usually did when she woke up before you, and pressed a kiss to her cheek in gratitude upon seeing a cup of steaming coffee beside her tea.

The pout remained, unflinching, unchanging.

"What's wrong?" you'd asked, concern spilling over you. It wouldn't be the first time she'd woken up from a nightmare and, unable to sleep and with nothing else to do, settled in the kitchen and worked on beverages for the two of you.

"Nothing," she said in a tone that gave away there was _something._

You didn't push it. If it was a bad dream, she would talk to you when she was ready. On her own terms.

That one word was all she said to you throughout the entire morning. You'd tried starting random conversations, tried bringing up the horrid weather or the lockdown you were stuck in, even told awful jokes that usually made her roll her eyes and call you a bampot, but nothing worked. Rowena remained silent. A few groans and moans were the height of her reactions.

A few times you looked away and, feeling her eyes burning into you, turned back to find her staring at you. As if she wanted to say something. As if she wanted to ask for something, but didn't dare say it out loud. She quickly looked away every time, cheeks flushing red as her hair.

Every time you asked "What?" it remained unanswered.

As the day went on, Rowena's behavior got weirder. When she walked past you, she made sure to brush her shoulder against you — hard, making it clear it was no accident. If you glared at her, she would pop her lower lip out in an even deeper pout, so adorable it turned your insides to jelly and instantly melted all your rising irritation away. You could never stay mad at her for long, especially not when she was being cute.

After lunch (which, to your surprise, she'd made), you'd sat down to read a book, and there she was beside you, squished against you like a child demanding attention. To say it was strange would be an understatement. Usually it was you, feeling lonely or just wanting to annoy her, who interrupted her reading and was met with a glare that had stopped being deadly years ago. She rarely, if ever, interrupted you. If you were busy, even with something pointless like a phone game, that meant you weren't bothering her, and she always welcomed that.

"What?" you'd asked in the tone she always used on you — irritated, but nor malicious, more dramatic than genuine.

Rowena had whimpered. She'd actually whimpered, whiny and all, like an injured puppy. And, gods, it was the cutest sound you'd ever heard. Cuter than even an actual puppy's.

You laughed. "You're such a child!"

A pout, again. It was hard to ignore, your heart clenching, but you stuck to your principles, eyes glued strictly to the book. Looking at her would mean letting her win at whatever game she was playing, and you weren't going to do that. If she was going to act like a brat, you would treat her like one. No matter how hard it was to restrain yourself from throwing your arms around her and showering her in kisses.

Resistance was hard, but worth it. Or so you wanted to believe.

Rowena made dinner, as well, and that all but cemented your belief that something was very, very wrong. She rarely, if ever, made food. If she couldn't order from her favorite restaurant, she prepared something, all the while grumbling and mumbling to herself, and cursing you out for making her do it. Today, though, she did it all on her own. No prompting from you. No unavailability of a restaurant. She just did it.

The food was delicious, which you made sure to point out. Strange behavior or not, she'd worked hard. Praise was the least she deserved. Each compliment brought a smile to her mouth, but it was quickly replaced by that persistent pout she couldn't seem to live without today. Somehow, it made the food sweeter. Juicier. The cuter the cook, the better the food.

Rowena had even done the dishes, also unprompted. She threw sideway glances at you as she worked, but your offers to help out were met with a "Hmph" and a turned head.

There was no satisfying her today, was there?

You were many things, but a mind reader wasn't one of them. If she had a problem, she had to tell you about it. As well as you knew her, there were some things — behaviors, tics — even you couldn't understand.

You paid the odd behavior no mind — or tried to, at the very least, for, as cute as Rowena was, it was terribly frustrating to be met with nothing but pouting and an odd whine all day. You had limits, and she'd crossed them all, and then some. If something was wrong, she was free to talk to you about it.

You'd sorted out all kinds of issues over the years. Granted, neither of you was the most communicative person, but you made it work. You made your relationship work. There were arguments and eye-rolls and arms thrown up in frustration, but in the end everything was sorted. You _communicated._

Why wouldn't she communicate with you now? Was she mad? You were pretty sure you'd neither said nor done anything wrong, but with Rowena one could never know. The woman had a strong penchant for offense at the most ridiculous things. A recent forecast announcing lousy weather had offended her in a personal way, so much so that she was all red in the face by the time you'd noticed and turned off the TV.

For all you knew, you could have looked at her slightly wrong by accident and she was sulking.

"Okay, that's enough," you said, pulling on your night clothes, tired from a long day of grunts and pouts.

Rowena, clad in adorable red pajamas, was nestled on the bed, eyes big and bright as a puppy's. Toes curling up. Pout firm on her mouth. You hated yourself for finding her cute, even at a time like this.

"Tell me what's wrong." It was a demand, a cold one. No sugarcoating it. No more Mrs. Nice Girl. You'd tried to elicit an answer the easy way and were met with nothing. If she was mad, be it at you or the world in general, you had nothing to lose by going at it the hard way. You'd already mentally prepared for a fight.

She blinked innocently. Tilted her head. Crossed her arms in a makeshift hug.

"Rowena." Your eyes found hers, locked with them tight. Clear as day that you were serious, that you were sick and tired of playing games. "If you've got something to say, say it."

Her puppy eyes glittered, growing wider, more vulnerable. Tearing at your heartstrings as if she'd stabbed you with the sharpest blade.

You sighed. Must not let weakness show. "Seriously? God, you're such a brat!"

Hmphing, Rowena turned her head. She said something under her breath, too quiet for you too hear, barely a whisper.

"What?" you asked.

Her cheeks flushed scarled. A tad louder, she mumbled, "Chhhhh."

It was… something. Not much, but it was a beginning of communication. There was an attempt.

You frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Cughhhhh."

You threw your arms up, confused, frustrated. "What are you trying to say?"

Rowena shot you her deadliest glare. She whipped back to face you, rose up into a sitting position, palms planted firmly on the bed, and, face bright red, anger seeping from every pore, exclaimed in her thickest accent, "Get yer bitch arse over here and cuddle with me, ye little shite!"

You flinched, startled by the outburst. Stared. Eyebrows rising, eyes widening. For a moment that seemed to last forever silence befell the room.

And then you laughed. You laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to contain yourself. Unwilling to, for the mere look on Rowena's face, ashamed, confused, made you want to explode with laughter.

That was what all of this was about? She wanted to cuddle? A day full of unintelligible noises and bumping shoulders, and all she wanted was to cuddle?

"Seriously?" you said, then burst into another laughing fit.

Rowena huffed, offended.

"Why didn't you just say so?"

More huffing. Pouting. No answer. Not a single word.

You grinned, heart fluttering. "You're so precious, you know that? So fucking precious!"

She rolled her eyes.

Chuckling, you crawled up to her on the bed. As soon as your arms nestled around her, she snuggled up against you as if her life depended on it. You held her tight, let her warmth spill over you. Basked in it. Allowed it to fill you up, to make your heart swell with it. She was so small in your arms, so impossibly tiny. Vulnerable like a child seeking protection, comfort, love.

You had plenty of that — and more — to give.

"My baby girl," you cooed, eliciting a happy little moan. "Next time just tell me you want cuddles."

A whine. God, she was adorable!

"I mean it. Just tell me, and I'm all yours." You pressed a soft kiss to her scalp. Rowena, in turn, buried her face in your chest. She really was a child. "I love you, you big baby."

It was hard to believe she was almost four hundred years old. Sometimes it felt as if she were younger than you.

"You, too," she muttered softly.

You knew. Good god, you knew. She didn't show this side of her to just anyone. You were special — privileged — to see her at her weakest, at her most vulnerable. At her cutest possible.

You wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Even if she was a brat sometimes.

She was _your_ brat, and you loved her for it.

Kissing her head one more time, you closed your eyes. It wasn't long before sleep took you over with her in your arms, comfortable and safe. Loved and cared for and cherished more than she'd ever been before.

You swore to never let it be any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
